


Suo Motu

by CheriBambi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Jamison Fawkes - Freeform, Junkrat - Freeform, M/M, Mild Language, Mostly Mako/Reader in the ship department, Multi, Original Character(s), Plot with Some Slice of Life, Poly RoadRat, Post Recall, Reader-Insert, Roadhog - Freeform, Slow Burn, Still Trying to Understand Military Ranks, Tags Are Hard, mako rutledge - Freeform, potential polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9855500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheriBambi/pseuds/CheriBambi
Summary: You're a new agent of Overwatch - specifically, a Liaison Officer - trying to make a difference in the world. Entering the revived organization as a paper pusher and negotiator, you constantly feel as though you must prove yourself to everyone else. While living in the shadow of your parents' reputation isn't easy, considering your lack of military training, you still desperately yearn to become a field agent. New opportunities to shine present themselves when you are assigned to supervising two - and rather infamous - Junker recruits, who begin to surprise you in many ways as you are hooked into their explosive world. While juggling your duties, keeping an eye on two wildcards, and helping the team assess a new Talon plot, you start to wonder if you've really gotten in over your head.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! After neglecting my creative side for so long, I've finally decided to get back into writing.
> 
> A couple notes before we begin:  
> * Hartley is your surname. (tbh, "Y/N" reads as an awkward distraction to me. Providing a last name at the very least makes it feel more organic.)  
> * Reader will be referred to as gender neutral, and I will try to stay as vague as possible during naughty bits later on.  
> * Fixed the timeline issue. Thank you user averygreen for letting me know. :)  
> * Title Pending
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

While Winston was making every effort to recall Overwatch agents as discreetly as possible, he took a major risk trying to recruit you. Being so young, you were inexperienced, and never part of the _original_ Overwatch.

But your _parents_ were.

Despite having you during Overwatch's initial procession, your late parents managed to fulfill their charges while sheltering you from a life of violence, which was why losing them in the Swiss HQ explosion was the hardest thing you've endured. While they were not always the most _present_ of guardians, they nurtured your talents when they could and secured your path to college. Promising yourself to carry on their memory, you never quit public service, and did the best you could to offset your grieving with a relentless work ethic. You pushed yourself into nonprofits and worked away in various global organizations, doing your part to help restore war-torn regions across the world through outreach and charity events. The work behind the scenes was stressful given your trepidation towards large crowds, but honoring your parents’ hopes for a better future was worth it.

As much of a cliché that sentiment was, it kept you going.

You never expected Overwatch to make a comeback, and you certainly never expected they would reach out to _you_ of all people. When you first received encrypted correspondence from Winston, you thought it was a joke. _Someone is just trying to get a rise out of me_ , you thought. _They know who my parents were_.

Then, stealth drones kept coming with message after message, urging you to at least _respond._ One message assured you not to worry about your public image should you choose to associate with such a political pariah – you’d just look as if you suddenly disappeared one day.

Finally, Winston left a propriety communicator in your possession, and surprised you with a general holo-vid debriefing of the situation. Knowing you were technically a private individual who might still decline at the time, he was pretty vague about the details, but he emphasized the difference Overwatch made in its prime.

He wanted to bring _that_ Overwatch back, he said – and he needed your help.

 _“I knew your parents,”_ he said in the recording with a crooked, sad grin. _“And I know you want the same things they did. Peace on Earth, right?”_ Winston’s smile dropped as he paused momentarily, and stared sternly into the camera. _“We’ll be waiting for you._ ” 

_What the hell can I do to help?_ You asked yourself, finger hovering over the _respond_ button that flashed on the device’s screen. _All I can do is talk and push papers around._

You felt like everything and nothing at the same time. You weren’t a fighter – that’s what your parents did, and look where _that_ got them. The only thing you’ve _punched_ was your pillow on bad days. The only gun you’ve ever held was a plastic toy, and it was no bigger than your _hand_. How could you ever contribute?

And in those moments of deep, panicked consideration, the corner of your eye caught two familiar faces in Overwatch armor smiling at you from a framed photograph on your desk. You, just a kid then, stood between them with your hands clutching theirs as they beamed with pride.

Maybe it was divine intervention, or a case of lonely projection as you stared down the faces of your late parents, but you felt _compelled_ to do _something._ “Okay, okay!” you said, pursing your lips at the family photo. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Breathlessly, you scrunched your nose and pressed down on the green ‘ACCEPT’ button – cluelessly stumbling into a world you barely knew anything about.

-

Fast-forward six months later, you were walking towards Winston’s lab for a weekly debriefing. Heading over from the crew’s quarters, you reminded yourself not to get distracted by the pretty view on the way. _Again_.

Watchpoint: Gibraltar was surprisingly not as big as you expected, but the winding hallways and staircases certainly left you lost quite a few times – even though you have already been stationed here for a while. Taking a deep breath, you punched in the passcode for the lab and entered, welcomed by Athena’s voice.

 _“_ Liaison Officer Hartley has arrived, Winston,” she said, her voice filling the room.

The position was interesting. At first, you were worried about being a glorified secretary, but felt a glimmer of hope when you realized how potentially integral your role was in the reforming organization. As an agent – Liaison Officer, to be exact – you had two main jobs: you had to get in touch with suppliers on behalf of Overwatch, and maintain cohesiveness between agents and Command. Given your experience with nonprofits around the world, you were quite familiar with those who were quietly sympathetic towards the cause, and those desperate enough to help under the table for the sake of achieving global peace. So far, you've managed to tactfully negotiate the delivery of some much-needed supplies, but still felt as though you could do greater, better things.

“Hello, love!” Tracer blinked beside you as you tried to find a place off to the side. She caught you off guard, as always, and giggled as you tried to compose yourself. “Hope you got enough rest, yeah?”

“Hi, Tracer,” you said, still intimidated by a seasoned agent. “Better than the start, that’s for sure.”

She smiled sweetly at you. “Good to see that you’re settlin’ in, then!” With another giggle, she quickly blinked to a chair nearby and waited for Winston to come down.

Just arriving were Soldier: 76 and Ana. Both of them reluctantly agreed to help Winston rebuild Overwatch, but the tension between 76 and Winston was quite palpable. Their arguments often revolved around Winston accusing 76 of being hotheaded, and 76 accusing Winston of being too soft. Ana, caught in the middle, simply wanted to do her job, and grew weary from Winston's passive aggressive jabs at 76's identity. Overall, however, the three of them were primarily stressed about improving numbers.

While there were former Overwatch agents who were willing to rejoin the cause, it wasn’t easy to help them transition to Gibraltar. It has been a few years since Overwatch disbanded, and many old agents had moved on with new lives since then. Knowing that the Petras Act kept their identities safe, they rebuilt their lives with jobs, homes, and families. A lot of them did not want to let that go.

Reinhardt and Mei were more than willing to regroup, but they had plenty of loose ends. Reinhardt claimed he was not done with his righteous trek through Europe, and Mei had already reentered the public eye as a vocal environmentalist, so immediate retrieval would prove troublesome.

Mercy recently rejoined, and rather begrudgingly, after finishing up her work abroad in South Asia. Winston previously assured everyone that agents would trickle back, and while his optimism helped ease everyone’s nerves, time was racing against all of you. And so was Talon.

The notion of Overwatch never reaching its former glory again scared you, and sometimes you worried that Soldier: 76 and Ana Amari – who had covertly been combating Talon operations as _Shrike_ – would leave, as they seemed hell-bent on instantaneous results at times, and weren’t impressed with the red tape Winston had often set before them.

When you were first introduced to 76, he told you that it was an honor to serve alongside your parents and that you looked a lot like them, but his tone sounded rather disappointed in the past, and left you walking away from the conversation rather deflated.

 _I guess that’s why they say ‘don’t meet your heroes,’_ you thought to yourself.

Ana, on the other hand, was far more chipper, and maintained that motherly sarcasm your parents always found charming. “We shared that same dream, your parents and I. We wanted to keep our children out of this life, safe. And yet, by simply being here, _habib(t)i,_ ” she said to you when you first met. “You’re making them proud.” After hearing those words, you prayed she’d never leave.

 “Ah, Agent!” Winston said, breaking your train of thought as he climbed down from his second floor office. “Glad you made it on time, unlike the others we’re still expecting.” He huffed, and grabbed a banana.

You briefly looked around, and noticed that Mercy, Lucio, and McCree were missing. “Should I, uh, ping their comms?” you suggested timidly, trying to be proactive about your role as liaison between the superiors and agents. Being the newest recruit made these meetings difficult for you. Your parents were experienced fighters, respected in and out of their ranks as competent, efficient soldiers. You were just a private citizen mere months ago, and felt intense scrutiny from nearly everyone. At times, you wondered if you imagined 76’s questioning glances your way. As if he was thinking to himself: _what are_ they _doing here?_

You kept telling yourself to prove to them that you’re worth keeping around – that Winston didn’t make a mistake in reaching out to you. That you _are_ your parents’ child.

“That will not be necessary, Liasion Officer Hartley,” Athena interjected. “They will be here in a moment.”

The entrance door slid open again, letting the three in. “Apologies for the delay,” McCree said, his voice smooth and thick like honey whiskey. “We thought we saw someone snoopin’ ‘round the base.”

“And you didn’t think to say anything?” 76 barked, bristling. “That’s a major security concern.”

“Don’t be alarmed,” Mercy said with her arms slightly raised. “It ended up being one of those _monkeys_ again. For some reason, they keep coming back to the facility.”

“The barbary macaques?” you clarified, having read about some of the animals native to the region during what little down time you had. “They’ve gotten into our food shipments once before. I think they’re trying their luck again.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose so. They can be quite loud,” Mercy said with some distaste in her voice.

Lucio sat on a chair beside Tracer with a fist bump, and checked the device on his wrist. A holo-screen popped up with pages of reports. He quickly scrolled through the debrief bullet points, looking very concerned. “Hey, Winston,” he said, trying to move the meeting along. “What’s this about an explosion at a sheet metal factory in Mexico?”

“Good question,” Winston responded, pulling up a projection for you all to see. “Unlike the media reports, we don’t think it was an electrical issue. Take a look.”

Sped-up security cam footage showed weeks of unauthorized late-night deliveries to the factory, with masked men hauling unmarked boxes through its back storage buildings. Two of the individuals had foolishly left their sleeves rolled up, allowing the camera to pick up on the glow-in-the-dark body paint used by all Los Muertos members.

“We’re speculating that Los Muertos was either using the factory as a front, or forced the owner to let them store contraband,” 76 explained. “Whatever they were keeping there – someone wanted it all gone.”

“The casualties,” Mercy breathed, grimacing over a news article. “How shameful.”

“Do we have any leads?” you asked. “What if it was a rival gang just trying to mess up their supply?”

“That is a strong possibility,” Ana said. “But there is also the chance that LumériCo might have something to do with it instead.”

McCree kept his hands hooked onto his belt buckle, chewing on a toothpick between his lips. “I reckon y’all want us t’go there ‘n take a look?”

Ana nodded, and swiped the projection to a following slide. “Yes, we need a small team to go in. McCree, you will join 76 and me on this mission.”

“We need you all to put your heads together on this one,” Winston warned. “Talon is becoming more and more aggressive, and we need to make sure they don’t have anything to do with this.”

You listened closely to the meeting, and took notes for your own personal records.

“Oh – and one more thing!” Winston said, swiping to the next slide. Two mugshots side by side surprised nearly everyone in the room. “I’m sure you’ve all heard about these two – Mako Rutledge and Jamison Fawkes, also more commonly known as _Roadhog_ and _Junkrat_. Expect them to be joining Overwatch shortly.”

The news was delivered almost so casually, you nearly brushed it off as trivial information before snapping back to the present.

“Those _criminals?_ ” Mercy cringed, disgust flooding her tone. “What place would they have here? Winston – why?”

“I know it sounds crazy, guys,” he responded. “But they can help. Despite their… _unscrupulous_ background, they have the firepower and skills we need to fight against Talon.We had no choice. I offered them a deal in exchange for their help.”

Not very pleased, Tracer stood up and gave a questioning look. “They’re dodgy and anti- _omnic_ , Winston. How can we trust them?”

“Agent Hartley will be monitoring them to make sure they don’t act against our interests,” Winston assured. “Lena, I know how you feel—“

She, however, was not having it. “Think of _Mondatta!_ ” Her fists were balled, feet firmly planted on the ground. “I don’t want _us_ to be associated with those _piss pots._ ”

Athena’s icon flashed from the corner of the screen, interrupting the disagreement. “Strategic update: considering the factory explosion happened within the last 48 hours, the optimal departure time would be tonight,” she said. “My data stream indicates that local authorities have just concluded their initial sweep of the explosion site before they return in 20 hours. Therefore, I highly suggest an immediate inspection by our team. A shuttle is prepared for launch in the hangar.”

A part of you wondered if Athena’s interruption was meant to help deflect Tracer’s anger off of Wilson. Her narrowed eyes told you she still was not convinced about letting those two on board, and you sympathized profusely.

“I was startin’ to get bored, anyway,” McCree smirked. “Let’s get t’work.”

Adjusting his glasses, Winston punched some things into his personal computer. “Thank you, Athena. We should get started on mission prep right away then. Officer Hartley, I’ll need you to stay behind for a moment.”

You nervously remained as everyone else left to prepare. “Is… is everything okay?”

With a sigh, Winston nodded. “Don’t worry, Officer Hartley. You’re doing everything just fine. I just wanted to touch base with you.” He walked closer towards you and, even resting on his knuckles, was considerably taller than you were. “It’s been a while since you’ve gotten here, and I know the change wasn’t easy.”

Shoulders dropping, you conceded. “No, it wasn’t. I’m still trying to see how I really fit in here. I mean – y’know – I appreciate the opportunity as a staff officer of sorts, but I really wish I could be a field agent. Like my parents.” You rubbed a hand behind your neck sheepishly with a pleading smile.

“Heh, I understand, but your place is here at Mission Control with me. You’re good help, and you’ve already gotten us the supplies we really needed to jump-start Overwatch again.” He reassured you, gently placing his giant hand on your shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do about getting you some basic combat training, though, but don’t expect to be sent out on the field. Your connections – _you_ – are too valuable to put at risk.”

It was hard to hear that, especially since you haven’t been able to communicate with the outside world or the people you cared about since joining Overwatch. You couldn’t tell if Winston was going to arrange basic training in order to gauge your true potential, or if he just wanted to humor you like a restless child. Either way, with no guarantee of becoming a fully-fledged field agent, it was something you half-heartedly looked forward to.

 _What if he really doesn’t see anything in me?_ You thought. _What if they really are just using me for my connections?_

“Uh, anyway, here are Junkrat and Roadhog’s dossiers. It lists everything we know about them, including some links to recent news reports.” Winston handed you a file, and gave you a moment to flip through it. “Athena’s provided some psychological assessments of her own, as well. We hope it’ll help you out.”

“Winston, I don’t think I’m qualified to be monitoring these two—“ you began.

“Nonsense!” he said, dismissively waving his hand. “Trust Athena’s advice. You’re just gonna help them settle in. Let me know if they start acting fishy. And if things get out of hand, Tracer and I are there for you. Alright?”

With a soft ‘ _thank you,’_ you sighed and left his lab, walking up to the radar array rooftop. You sat down beside the Overwatch banner, and began to skim the dossiers. _So Mako Rutledge and Jamison Fawkes, huh?_ you snorted to yourself, hoping their arrival won’t be as bad as you anticipated. You read through articles detailing explosive robberies, violent extortion, and kidnappings. The stories horrified you, and left you wondering how you would handle two criminals on base. After a while, you realized you needed a break and put the folder down beside you. Taking a moment, you stared out at the horizon to admire the view.

The sky was as blue as the first day you got here, some clouds idly hovering above like a meticulously-arranged movie backdrop. Bright rays of sunlight warmed your skin, which offered some comfort as you listened to the waves crashing against rocks down below. With the soft hum of the adjacent satellite tower nearby acting as white noise, your mind wandered like the faraway ships passing by, remembering the life you used to lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was the longest chapter I've ever written, lol.
> 
> Thank you for reading! This is my first time publishing anything in years, so I would greatly appreciate feedback, please!
> 
> Chapter 2 should be due soon - and yes, our favorite Junkers will be there! :)
> 
> xx - cheri


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting busy at Watchpoint: Gibraltar! The recon mission doesn't end well at all, leaving the whole team with more questions than answers, and you quickly realize that earning the Junkers' trust will be way harder than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big, big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, comment, and leave kudos! Your support truly helps me stay motivated - so thank you for that. :) I spent a lot of time reviewing Junkrat and Roadhog's voice lines, in-game interactions, lore, and comic in an effort to build my familiarity with their characters. 
> 
> Hoping you enjoy this chapter! I put a lot of love into it.

Sometimes, waking up in the morning was the hardest part.

With your alarm auto-playing news reports from around the world, you were immediately forced into hearing about the most recent tragedies at a far more frequent rate than your last three jobs combined. This set of morning reports in particular made your heart palpitate fast, as the radio scanner hit _your_ hometown.

Oh, _God_ , you hated it when this happened.

“Even after six months,” the report said. “This disappearance has left local authorities at a loss.” They stated your full name, and introduced one of your closest friends to the mic for listeners.

“Look–” your friend said, repeating your name with her voice cracking in between breaths. “If you’re listening, we just hope you’re safe. And if someone took you, just– please, please bring them home. We miss you so much, and we’re s-so _worried-_ ”

The radio host abruptly cut off the voice clip the second she began to sob uncontrollably, only to continue with the county sheriff’s personal account of the situation.

Unbearable guilt hit you in the chest like a ton of bricks, making you feel like your insides were being churned over as you nervously clutched the bedsheets for comfort. People who cared about you were scrambling for clues, for answers. Wondering where in the world you’ve gone. Wondering if you’re safe, or _worse_.

While your new duties served as a daily reminder that you’re doing this to keep _your_ loved ones safe from worldwide threats, they didn’t quell your shame for leaving so suddenly. For a moment, you felt yourself being incredibly bitter at Winston for not letting you leave a note. Something to at least say _‘don't worry, I’m okay.’_

You managed to catch yourself before you broke down. Moments like these made you more than grateful for having your own room, as small as it was. Drawing in a deep, staggered breath, you turned off the radio and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, head cradled in the palms of your hands. “Okay,” you sighed to yourself. “You’re okay. They’re okay. You’ll go home eventually.”

Although deep down you knew _here_ was your home now.

“Good morning, Liaison Officer Hartley–” Athena’s voice said softly in your room, startling you. “Pardon my interruption, but Winston needs your immediate attention at his laboratory.”

“A-Athena,” you responded with an unintentional groan. “Were you here the whole–”

“I do not eavesdrop in your private quarters, Officer,” Athena said curtly. “I am only relaying Winston’s message.”

“Oh, sorry, I– Thanks, Athena,” you said sheepishly. “I’ll be down soon.”

After quickly getting ready for the day, you gave yourself one more quick glance at the mirror and walked out the door, making sure to hear the auto-locking mechanism _click_ behind you. Your private quarters were one of the few available along this hallway and they were all rather awkwardly, at least in your opinion, situated behind a door in the crew quarters.

You looked at McCree’s bed and noticed how it wasn't even made, the sheets coiled up in a messy heap. A pair of cowboy boots were sticking out from under the bed frame, making you wonder how far this whole shtick of his really went, as endearing as it was. You were thinking about giving him a word about maintaining common space cleanliness, but felt that it wasn't your place given his, well, _seniority_ in the organization. Shaking your head, you continued out the door and hoped that McCree and the others would return from their mission soon, even if they had just departed the evening prior.

-

Winston’s lab was abuzz with activity, and you minded your step as you walked up towards his office.

He was hopping between monitors, keeping tabs on the group’s mission to Mexico while providing them with constant updates on any activity in the area, whether by local enforcement or otherwise. Scouter drones picked up nothing, leaving them to discreetly inspect the parameter before moving inside to further investigate the source of the explosion.

Before you managed to get a word out to the gorilla, 76’s voice crackled over Winston’s communicator. “Winston-” he started. The main screen on Winston’s desk automatically flipped to 76’s live video feed, which was synced with his visor. “We think there’s someone in here.”

You squinted from the doorway, trying to determine what was happening onscreen. It was dim, and you could hear the shuffling of their boots as they tried to find cover. Even with 76’s visor’s night filter and infrared tech, the camera had trouble picking up on any other presence nearby. A ball dropped in your stomach as you jumped to the worst case scenario in your mind, hoping drones or omnics weren’t closing in on them.

“Shh,” Ana responded. “Ja- 76, look.”

The silhouette of an omnic could be seen as the camera zoomed in, focusing on what was left of the factory main floor. They were desperately trying to find something amidst the debris, and nervously looked over their shoulder every few seconds as though they were afraid of being followed.

McCree grumbled under his breath as he brandished his gun, it barely glimmering in the low light. “I don’t think he’s a baddie,” he whispered. “But let’s stay on the safe side.”

“Well, I can’t sleep dart him,” Ana responded. “We can’t scare him off either.”

76 raised his hand as if to silence the other two, and he leaned in closer behind his pile of rubble.

You watched in suspense, and noticed that Winston was trying to gauge as much information as he could from the situation. “What’s going on? Who are they?” he questioned.

“Everyone, quiet,” 76 responded. “I think someone else is coming.”

From behind the omnic, a tall, slender figure emerged from the darkness. Her hair was tightly pulled into a high ponytail, letting it swung behind her like the tail of a snake. “My, my,” she crooned. “What is a _bot_ like you be doing in a place like _this?_ ” A rifle half her size was casually hoisted on her shoulder as the ominous _clack-clack_ of her short heels came to an abrupt stop.

Ana’s breath hitched over the mic, followed by a deep, bitter sigh. “Amélie…” she snarled.

“This is worse than I thought. What is _Widowmaker_ doing there?” Winston found himself both baffled and disappointed. All hopes of this being part of a much smaller scheme were flushed down the drain, and you knew that Talon’s clear involvement was going to make this mission a lot more complicated than you all needed it to be.

The omnic froze, and nervously raised their hands. “ _Lo siento, lo siento,_ ” they begged, turning their head. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t, mon chéri, and yet–”

Within microseconds, her rifle clicked and was pushed against the omnic’s temple.

“– _Here we are._ ”

“Oh, _shit,_ ” 76 said, and quickly flung himself over the debris, firing a warning shot. “Hey!”

Everything became a staticky blur, leaving you, Winston, and Athena to listen in to the audio over a choppy video feed.

“ _Que?”_ Widowmaker, alarmed, activated her visor and instinctively swung to a rafter. “You,” she hissed, cocking her gun. “It’s always one of _you._ ”

“What’s your game, Amélie?” Ana called. From the clanking of vials you could only guess she was loading up a sleep dart. “What’s do you want from this place?”

“Ask the omnic,” Widowmaker responded. “If you can get them in one piece.”

Your hand pressed against your mouth in worry, you walked closer to Winston’s desk and leaned into the speakers. “Oh, God, please, no-”

The crack of a gunshot rang in your ears as if you were there, but the scream that followed wasn’t the one you expected.

Video feed switching to McCree’s body cam, it was clear that he managed to get Widowmaker’s right arm just in time to stun her. “Give it up, Spiderella!” he snorted. “You’re outnumbered ‘n outgunned. I’d say you best quit while _y’think_ you’re ahead.”

“You know nothing, you blabbering fool,” Widowmaker hissed, clutching her arm. She dove down to the floor, a sordid blend of dirt and shattered concrete, and ran down another hall.

The omnic scrambled to safety, and nearly escaped before 76 subdued them. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, and cuffed them to an exposed grid of rebar. “You two, let’s go!”

You heard a sequence of noises you could only try to piece together to picture what was happening. The stomping of their boots against the cracked floor. Then, coughing. McCree muttering a string of curses as they triggered a poison trap. The _ting_ of a biotic field being activated, quickly followed by another quick, close altercation between the three and Widowmaker.

“What’s that you got there in that little briefcase?” McCree shouted, firing a round.

Widowmaker said nothing and, hearing no echos, it sounded as though they had cornered her in a small room somewhere.

“Nothing you need to worry about, _brat_ ,” said a deeper voice, one that oddly reminded you of magma and smoke. The ring of shotguns immediately told you who it was and your heart sank even further into fear.

“ _Him_ ,” Winston said. “This isn’t good.”

“Get down!” 76 commanded, crashing down into some more debris.

Reaper yelled over his firepower, putting himself between the Overwatch agents and Talon assassin. “Widowmaker, move it!”

She fled, her footsteps growing more and more faint until you could no longer hear them. One more shotgun blasted off, and 76 loudly choked in pain. “Stay down, Boy Scout,” Reaper blared.

Ana’s camera showed her clutching the soldier in her arms, stabbing a healing dart into his shoulder. “Jack,” she whispered and dropped her nonchalant facade in worry, allowing his identity to slip. “Give it a moment. Just a moment.”

Reaper’s gravely voice amplified the anxiety building up in the air. “We’ll finish this later,” he threatened. There were no footsteps when Reaper left. The sound of his growl echoed down the hall, forcing a shiver up and down your spine.

“What the hell was that?” Winston said, clutching the screen.

“Listen, this ain't a good time for show ‘n tell,” McCree responded. “Let's go get that omnic fella ‘n head back. McCree ‘n company, out.”

The feed abruptly ended, leaving you speechless. Winston stared at the blank monitor for a full minute, catching his breath. Slowly, he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Officer Hartley,” he said. “This…”

“I'm sorry, Winston,” you said. “That was a close one.”

He bristled in frustration, and slammed a fist into the floor. “I don't get it. Why are they doing this? What could they have taken from that place?”

Athena furiously mapped out the area again, running new scans. “Local drones are attempting to track down Widowmaker and Reaper. _Scanning..._

“ _Scanning..._

_“Scanning– ALERT._

“Talon dropship detected. Leaving area now. Westbound. Mini drones are not equipped to follow. Deploying magnetic micro-trackers from Drone B5…

“ _Deployment in progress…_

 _“_ Two trackers have successfully attached to the Talon dropship. Status updates will be posted on your primary monitor,” Athena finished. “Also, please mind your heart rate, Winston.”

“Yes, yes, Athena. I know.” Sighing, he thanked the AI and turned back to you. “Okay, we’ll follow up on this _debacle_ later. Vital signs show those three are okay. Shaken up, but okay. I’m sorry you had to see all of that.”

You raised your hands in an attempt to reassure him. “Don’t worry about me. I just hope they’ll be back in one piece soon. But they’re taking care of themselves now. What is it you wanted me for, Winston?”

“Ah, yes,” he said with another sigh, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to ease up. “Those two I mentioned yesterday? Junkrat and Roadhog - they’ll be arriving sooner than we expected. Cops in England are catching up to them so we’re retrieving them early.”

Narrowing your eyes, you pursed your lips. “How much sooner, exactly? I have a lot of reports to follow up on and these recent food shipments are–”

“Tomorrow,” was the blunt response.

“ _Tomorrow!?_ Winston, with everything that just happened, it’s all hands on deck here. What if something goes wrong with those two?”

“I’ll be with you to handle the introductions, Officer Hartley,” Winston replied while nervously cleaning his glasses. “I know you don’t trust them. None of us really do but, if anything, this is probably a blessing in disguise given the circumstances. We need all the help we can get to our take back whatever it was Widowmaker stole. And, really,” he shrugged at you, as if the answer so obvious. “What’s better than a couple of thieves?”

Clutching the tablet to your pounding chest, your heart sank to your stomach like ten pounds of lead. All the reports about those two screamed murder and mayhem - everything you were raised against, and nothing you needed in your life. Concern for everyone’s wellbeing latched onto your uncertainty of what is to come with these strangers.

Winston caught you zoning out in a fit of worry, and said your name while nudging you lightly on the arm. “Remember, we got you. Tracer and Lúcio will be taking off tomorrow morning to retrieve them and should be back by the afternoon. Take the day off. You have until then to get ready.” He motioned to send you off, and went back to furiously typing on his keyboard to follow up on Ana, 76, and McCree’s status.

Halfway down the stairs, your head jerked up in a moment of realization. “Hey, Winston?” you called back, turning around.

“Yeah?”

“Ana said _Jack_.”

Silence, then: “Yes, she did.”

“So he’s really… did you know?”

“Anyone who knew Jack Morrison well enough would know. Did you?”

You paused, and considered it. “I... had a feeling. At first I thought he was a soldier who just knew my parents, but I've overheard Ana nearly trip up before. I've wanted to know ever since.”

“Well, there’s your answer. It’s good to know we didn’t lose him in the explosion, but… if I were you,” Winston cautioned softly from his desk, beginning to get a little touchy about the matter. “I wouldn’t mention it.”

“Got it,” you said in complete understanding before going off to speak with Tracer and Lúcio, who unsurprisingly were still not very happy about the impending recruitment.

-

“I just don’t understand it!” Tracer barked, sitting atop a bench in the mess hall. “What will happen to Zenyatta once Genji returns with him?”

Lúcio nodded in agreement. “Yeah, man, this is crazy. They’re gonna cause real trouble once they get here. I’ve seen what they do in the holovids, and none of it’s pretty.”

“I don’t know why Winston wants me to babysit them,” you sighed. “Sure, they have a deal, but… they seem really unpredictable.”

Tracer noticed the growing fear in your eyes, and quickly perked up with a smile. “Don’t worry, love,” she cooed, rubbing your arm. “We’ll be here every step of the way.”

The DJ next to her crossed his arms and leaned back with a smug grin. “Yeah, and if they bug you, I’ll _blast_ them over a cliff.”

“Ha! Thanks, you two,” you said, finding yourself truly smiling for what felt like the first time in a long time.

-

The next day, you fervently prepared yourself to look your best. _You need to send a message_ , you thought. _Gotta be taken seriously._

Athena, noting your accelerating heart rate throughout the morning, reminded you to stay calm before you hit a potential panic attack. “Officer Hartley, please recall that while these two new recruits are criminals, they will be forced to abide by base protocols. Winston would not have them if they truly posed a considerable threat to you or the crew.”

“You’ve seen what they can do, Athena,” you said into your communicator. “Rules aren't exactly their thing. If they tried something, I wouldn’t be able to fight back.” Unwilling to eat, you merely poked and prodded at your breakfast bagel with a butter knife.

“…Which is why we have soldiers, Officer Hartley. The ship is expected to arrive in five minutes. Please go meet Winston at the launch pad.”

Dragging your body off the chair, you rolled your neck from side to side in an effort to loosen up. “Okay, okay, okay,” you responded frantically, and quickly collected your tablet and introductory binders you prepared for the Junkers. ( _Although, realistically, you wondered if they’d bother reading them at all.)_

“Ah, Officer Hartley!” Winston called, gesturing you to come over by Tracer’s MV-261 Orca aircraft. “They’re docking now. You feeling okay?”

“Nervous, just… nervous,” you replied while quickly patting down your narrow slacks. “How’s Ana and everyone? I know they got back but haven’t seen them.”

“Tired, but they’ll catch up soon,” he said. “Hey listen, don’t show these two you’re intimidated. Follow my lead, and stay calm. They won’t bite.” With a laugh, he straightened up and gave you a reassuring, albeit overpowered, pat on the back.

Despite his confident demeanor, though, Winston’s lingering expression indicated that his thoughts were still preoccupied with what happened the day before. The image of his hair standing on end the second he heard Reaper’s voice never left your mind. If a 400 pound gorilla became uneasy at the thought of this guy, how should _you_ feel?

Hearing the drawn out _hiss_ of the Orca’s side door unlocking made you more nervous, as you could see two fearsome silhouettes a few feet behind the glass with Lúcio. Noticing you waiting at the platform beside Winston, he shot you a ‘ _stay chill’_ look as the door opened.

Each second passed with an overly cumbersome lull, the anticipation relentlessly building up in your gut as every bad possible scenario one could think of looped in your head.

The door drawn down, Lucio walked out first, followed by the two Junkers. Tracer tailed behind them cautiously, her fingers discreetly hovering over her side arms. The sound of chains rattling with their footsteps was all you could hear until they came to a stop before you and Winston, who were watching a few steps down from the platform.

In a moment of awkward silence, you gulped and quickly scanned the two up and down out of curiosity and fear. Roadhog was larger-than-life, towering above everyone else like a statue. His fingers were coiled around his monstrous hook, which certainly appeared to be longer than your entire arm, and looked ready to fling the spiked weapon at any potential attacker. His leathery pig mask was cracked and appeared stitched up over time, hiding his face well and leaving only a foggy trace of his narrowed eyes behind the tinted goggles. His introduction wasn’t as thunderous as you thought it would be, but you could still hear each of his harsh, drawn-out breaths from behind the mask.

Junkrat was more lanky than lithe, hunched over with a heavy, spiked tire strapped to his back. He had a slight twitch permeate throughout his entire body every few seconds, as if he was forever trapped in a questioning cycle of _fight-or-flight-fight-or-flight_. Whatever was left of his hair remained in unkempt, half-singed sections, and old, blood-stained bandages were wrapped around his left calf and shoulder. Soot and stubble peppered his face, and you noted he and his partner had blackened fingernails – most probably a side effect from their radioactive homeland. Appearing slightly distracted, his golden eyes rapidly wandered around his surroundings, taking in the tech, the structures built into the rock, and the potential body count if this meeting went south. Both Junkers were skeptical, ready to fight if need be. Given the information loaded in their dossiers, it was clear that life in the irradiated Outback would permanently embed paranoia and survivalism in all of its unwilling residents.

As both parties sized each other up, with Tracer and Lúcio standing by at the ready, Winston cleared his throat. “Uh, hello, Junkrat and Roadhog. I'm Winston, the one who's been in contact with you. Welcome to Watchpoint: Gibraltar!” He extended his hand as a friendly gesture.

Lumbering closer, Roadhog gave Winston a final look, then strongly reciprocated the handshake with a grunt. Junkrat followed suit with a quick shake of Winston’s fingers. “Hey, you’re the gorilla from the holovids.” He barked loudly, waving his grenade launcher. “Nice place y’got here.”

“Er, yes, but I am a _scientist_ ,” Winston politely corrected.

The two Junkers looked at you like _‘who’s this?_ ,’ as if waiting for you to say something. Winston inconspicuously nudged your shoulder with his, making you reflexively shoot out your hand. “H-hello, Mr. Rutledge and Mr. Fawkes. I'm Officer Hartley and I will be your guide and liaison.”

Roadhog shook your hand, firmly holding it with a low rumble. You squeaked at the sudden pressure, noting how his grip was both tight and deliberately prolonged. Regardless of his intentions, he was certainly intimidating. You could only gaze up in awe under the the great shadow Roadhog casted above you, and tried not to wince at each of his subsequent movements.

Junkrat, however, recoiled and pursed his lips in disapproval. “Oi, what's that? ‘ _Mr. Fawkes?’_ Listen, mate, the last five people who called me ‘ _Mr. Fawkes’_ were either coppas tryin’ to take me in or a suit tryin’ to use me for me talents. You don't look like no coppa, but you sure as hell can pass for a _suit_.” With a dirty glance, he shot his eyes up and down your outfit. His partner, though not as vocal, chimed in with a low, suspicious grunt.

Half of you barely understood him, and the other half felt insulted that he'd accuse you of being some sort of manipulative businessperson upon first meeting.

“No, no, no, _Junkrat_ ,” Winston intervened, emphasizing his name. “Officer Hartley is a very reliable agent. They’re here to help, and have no intention of profiting off of your… talents.”

You nodded and raised your hands halfway. “Oh, yeah. My apologies, Mr. - er - Junkrat. I’m assigned to helping both of you settle into the base as we prepare for our next mission.”

He raised a brow at you, seemingly unconvinced.

Mentally recollecting Junkrat’s dossier, you quickly tried to salvage the situation before he’d change his mind about the deal. “I am also pleased to share that we have a full-service shooting range available to you and your partner,” you began. “And a private workbench for you to fix or upgrade your weapons as needed.”

“Hmm, that the truth?” Taking a moment to consider your hopeful nod, Junkrat feigned cynicism before suddenly reaching in to excitedly shake your hand. The rigor in his movements jostled your body as he followed through with the gesture. “Then that’s aces, mate! Consider your apology accepted!” His high-pitched giggles rang in your ears as Roadhog silently stared on from behind him.

Winston sighed in relief beside you while Tracer and Lúcio shot you thumbs-ups from the side. _‘Nice save,’_ mouthed Lúcio.

You smiled at them embarrassingly and looked over Junkrat’s shoulder to his body guard, who hasn’t spoken a word this entire time. “I hope you find all of our facilities more than satisfactory, _Roadhog_ ,” you said. “Now, if you two will follow me…”

“We’ll take your belongings directly to the crew quarters,” Winston assured. “So Officer Hartley  may begin your tour of the base.”

The larger Junker stepped forward, his hook poised. “No,” he warned, letting you to finally hear his voice. It was deep, and sounded as though it were razed a hundred times over.

Junkrat ran back into the ship to grab their two large duffel bags, shouting back at Roadhog in agreement. “Listen here, _friends,_ ” he said, gently tossing one of the bags to Roadhog. “Mine. His. Ours. Hands off!”

“Understood one hundred percent, Junkrat. Now if you would _please_ follow me…” you repeated, your exasperated grin as forced as ever.

-

“This is the Ordnance Bay, which hosts our artillery, weapon workstations, and practice range. You’ll have your own passcodes soon, but they won’t grant you access to all the sectors on base,” you explained halfway through the tour.

Junkrat groaned behind you, souring up. “You mean to say we can’t play with the other toys you got in there?”

“Unfortunately, no,” you replied, guiding them towards the practice range. “But you have unlimited access here and to any modifications you may need. And - oh! - we have self-repairing training bots. I don’t even know how they do it, but that’s cool, right?”

“Ha! So I can blow them up? Over and over again?”

“Yes, you can… blow them up as much as you want.”

A string of incessant giggles was the only response you got, but you were simply grateful that the targets in the range would ultimately be the receiving end of their firepower and not you. From the corner of your eye, you caught Roadhog saunter up to a bot, levelling his scrap gun against its head.

“Er, Roadhog,” you began cautiously, trying to not let your anxiety cloud your professionalism while noting his hook clipped to his other side. “Please remember, the bots can’t fix themselves if they’re not on.”

The behemoth of a man pushed the end of the gun against the bot until it leaned back, and then pulled away with a teasing chuckle. He got dangerously close to you as he backed from the bot, his hook a mere inch away from grazing you. Your eyes, wide but intrigued, searched his mask for a hint of _something_.

“C’mon, you drongo,” Junkrat said, his volume far too loud for the hallway. “We’ll be back to make this place all _ex-puh-lodey_ later!”

Concluding the tour at the crew quarters, you placed your introductory binders on their marked beds and showed them their assigned lockers. Someone had replaced the original _“FAWKES”_ and _“RUTLEDGE”_ placards with temporary handwritten “ _JUNKRAT”_ and _“ROADHOG”_ cards instead, which made you smirk because you could only imagine Tracer racing up and the down the base to update the signs before you three got there.

“This me bed, mate? I _suppose_ it’ll do,” mused the smaller Junker as he dropped his bag to the side and bounced on the the bedside. His prosthetic leg kept tapping the metal frame, as if testing its durability. “Roadie? What’dya think? Better than that _shack_ we were hidin’ in on King’s Row, I’d say!”

“You serious?” A man of few words, but Roadhog was clearly displeased, refusing to share in his partner’s excitement. Weapons holstered and bag in hand, he remained unimpressed and looked borderline slighted.

“Hooly dooly!” Junkrat yipped. “That’s mighty awkward! You best figure this out _pronto_ , suity. You don’t wanna get me mate angry, and I’m not too rapt ‘bout him not having his own space, either.”

Taking a couple seconds to connect the dots, your grip on your tablet tightened as you quickly tried mollify Roadhog. “If this won’t be comfortable,” you offered him, eyes darting between his proud, tall stature and the average-sized beds. “I can see if we have larger mattresses.”

“Yeah,” he hissed. “You better.”

 _Yikes, yikes, yikes, yikes,_ you kept thinking to yourself. Turning red, you backed to the door. “I, um, I will go speak to Winston and we will get this sorted right away, Mr. - ah - Roadhog!” Informing them that Mercy will come by for a routine medical check soon, you gave them no chance to rebut as you jolted out the door.

Heart pounding, and mental exhaustion quickly catching up to you, you tried to compose yourself as you reached Winston’s office.

 _This is going to be a long, long week_ , you thought. _A long, long week._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that Chapter 2 helped me finish laying down the groundwork for the story, I'm really excited about where I want to take it. I hope you are, too! I'm aiming to keep future chapters less than ~2500 words to expedite updates. This one was long, but so much fun to write!
> 
> In Chapter 3, things will pick up as Hartley starts their training, listens in on some interrogations, and starts to spend more and more time with the Junkers. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think. :) As always, your feedback is most appreciated.
> 
> xx - cheri


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't tell what's harder - babysitting the Junkers, or eavesdropping on your boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I'd like to thank everyone who's been reading and taking the time to leave kudos and comments! They mean a lot. :D Also - I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I found myself getting burnt out after the first two and needed a break halfway through this one. (Not to mention I proofread each chapter like 5 times lol)
> 
> Thank you for being so patient! Hope you enjoy the ride.

By the time you returned, Mercy and her nurses were wrapping up their health check on Junkrat and Roadhog. A couple guards waited at the door the whole time, attentively making sure that no harm would come to the base’s doctor and her aides. As you walked in with a gentle _‘I’m back_ ,’ all eyes trailed to you.

“H-hi, Dr. Ziegler,” you said. “I hope everything went well?”

“Ah, as well as it could have,” she said with a sigh, directing some pointed disapproval towards Junkrat. “ _Someone_ did not allow me to draw blood, but I managed to get him through a basic set of vaccinations.”

“You’re lucky I let you touch me at all, docta!” Junkrat chirped back, wincing as he childishly poked at his fresh bandages.

“Oh, I…” you trailed, not really knowing how to contribute to the situation.

“It’s fine. General body scans indicate no major concerns that can directly affect missions.” Mercy stood and walked to your right side, leaning closely with a hand on your shoulder. Her voice dropped to a flutter of a whisper as the rest of her team prepared to leave with the medical equipment in tow. “But, really, please be mindful of these two, Officer Hartley. Their time spend in the Outback has undoubtedly affected their physical and mental wellbeing. While I value my patients’ confidentiality, I cannot monitor them as often as you will be, so I will be sending you an… _abridged_ medical summary report for your reference.” 

“I didn’t think that would be necessary,” you breathed. “But, uh, okay. Okay, whatever you think is best, Doctor.”

Offering a demure apology for the Junkers’ difficulty, you stepped aside to let her pass. As the nurses and guards followed Mercy out of the crew quarters, you were left alone once again with the two Junkers, whose crossed arms and tilted heads made you feel nothing else but judged.

“So! Um, now that _that’s_ over,” you began, spinning a room access card by its coil keychain. “Good news, Roadhog. You’ve been assigned your own room.”

His crossed arms dropped as he followed you to the door leading to the private quarters hallway. Swiping in the keycard, you explained to him that this will grant him access to the hallway and his individual room. Giving one more glance to grab his bag, he snorted and continued to slowly follow you.

Junkrat, however, was none too pleased about this arrangement. Jolting from his bed, he scrambled towards you two and wrinkled his nose. “Hey, hey, wait a minute, suity! Why does pig face get ‘is own room and _I_ have to stay out here?”

“We can discuss that after Roadhog settles in, Junkrat,” you responded with a tight-lipped smile.

You could almost feel the floor shake under Roadhog’s steps. Footstep after footstep in such a narrow corridor, you felt a sense of unease as he and his overexcited companion followed closely behind you. It wasn’t until you reached his door that you realized he’d be exactly next to your room. Knuckles whitening, you bit your tongue and slid in the card. “Go ahead, Roadhog,” you said, flicking on the lights.

“Hmmm,” Junkrat grumbled, walking towards the small window. “Can’t see much through ‘ere, but that’s a whole lotta water…” There was a croak in his voice as he pulled himself away from the glass.

“Not a fan of the ocean, Junkrat?” you asked, somewhat teasingly.

“ _Not a fan?_ ” he parroted before wiggling his prosthetic limbs at you. “It’s almost killed me, suity! Can’t really float with these, ey?”

“No, I suppose not,” was your only response.

Roadhog, meanwhile, was still quietly examining the room. His fingers ran along the dented metal bedframe, letting you hear that subtle _swipe_ of flesh on polished steel. His hand pushed down onto the large mattress, as if both testing its strength and reveling in the fact he’d have a legitimate, soft bed to himself _._ A wooden desk sat in the corner, accompanied by a hefty, worn-down swivel chair. The desk lamp appeared fully operational, its LEDs flickering on and off as Junkrat tinkered with its switch. Roadhog remained silent as he approached the mahogany dresser beside it. It was old and scratched up and a little dusty from going years without use. And yet, you sensed that a part of the big guy liked it even more for having lasted all this time.

You came forward, running your hand across an offline monitor on the wall. “So, does this arrangement work for you?”

Before Roadhog could reply, Junkrat marched forward and jabbed you in the chest. “Roadie is _my_ muscle, suity, and there ain’t no way I’m sleepin’ out with all those _other people_ while he gets to cozy up in this ‘ere room!”

Stammering, you shook your head and straightened your back. “I understand your concern, but we aren’t assigning any more rooms.”

“Let ‘im stay in here with me,” Roadhog said. “Roll in another bed or somethin’. There’s space.” A pause. “I’m gonna go get my bike from the ship.” Tired and incensed after being poked and prodded by Mercy for nearly forty-five minutes, he slogged out the door with a grumble.

“That can be done,” you called after him and turned to Junkrat, who had already thrown himself on Roadhog’s bed with a satisfied chitter. “What’s his problem?”

“Roadie? Don’t you know?” Junkrat said, peering up. “He’s not too keen on gettin’ friendly with your Overwatch mob. Feels your group ‘ere didn’t do much when the Omnium blew. I mean, ain’t that the truth?” He lifted his prosthetic arm towards the ceiling light, opening and closing his fist with each joint creaking at every bend. “Your lil parachute _‘care packages’_ barely did a thing when everythin’ went to _shit._ ”

“I don’t know much about that,” you admitted, stepping back. “But I wasn’t around then. I had nothing to do with it.”

Junkrat raised a brow, noting your defensiveness. “Suits like you made those decisions, y’know.”

Heat rising in your voice, your heels began to unconsciously dig into the rug. “Yeah, well I’m not— okay, look. I’m just here to help, okay? You two need to stop treating me like the bad guy when you signed up to be a part of our team.”

“Y’think we wanna do this? This ain’t us ‘going legit _,’_ _friend_ ,” he sneered, pulling himself up from the bed. “The only reason we’re here is because Roadie needs more Hogdrogen, and your _Mercy_ lady promised she’ll make us some if—!” Junkrat’s eyes widened as he paused, shamefully slapping a hand against his mouth. “Aw, _shit_. You weren’t s’pposed to know that. Hog’d be pissed if he knew I told. I forgot, I forgot—” He growled under his breath as his other hand knotted into his hair with an angry tug.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you leaned forward, your hands awkwardly facing him. “I didn’t hear anything, okay? That’s none of my business. It’s okay.”

Junkrat seemed to calm down, chest falling as he exhaled deeply. Golden eyes shot up to meet yours. They were narrowed and unsure – almost accusatory – but he ultimately relented to your words. "Yeah, good, good. You don't know nothin', suity. Nothin' at all. This neva’ happened."

“If either of you need anything, catch me on the comms,” you said, feeling another heavy weight burgeon in your chest. With a final understanding nod, you spun on your heel and slunk out to your room. Once inside, you firmly closed the door and slumped down into a chair, digging your fingers into your temples.

 _That_ was too much to process at once. There was too much anger, too much doubt. And the fear you saw in Junkrat’s eyes was virtually palpable. He was worried for his bodyguard, his _friend._

 _Maybe there’s more to this ‘honor amongst thieves’ thing than I thought,_ you mused to yourself.

Still – ‘suits like you’ kept repeating in your head. The way Junkrat said it – it was _dirty_. Made _you_ feel dirty.

 _But that’s not what we do_ , you told yourself. _Overwatch helps people. My parents_ helped _people._

Suddenly, you heard a notification beep from your tablet:

 

 

> _NEW MESSAGE FROM: DR. ANGELA ZIELGER_
> 
> _SUBJECT: Junkers’ Health Reports_
> 
>   _ATTACHMENT(S): 2_

Scrolling through the examination notes, you skimmed past blocks of blacked-out text and what you already knew. _Height, weight, age, yes, yes, yes…_ you mulled on while reading Junkrat’s medical report.

 

 

> _FAWKES, JAMISON_
> 
> _Summary: Patient struggles with memory loss. All agents have been unofficially advised to interact with caution due to criminal background. Radiation poisoning is a clear undercurrent of the patient’s health. Typical, more severe reactions to long-term exposure to radioactivity appear delayed. Noted starting signs of premature deterioration of cartilage in right hip. Recommended line of treatment is [REDACTED]._
> 
> _Prognosis: [REDACTED]._
> 
> _Additional notes: Officer Hartley, Junkrat’s explosives are a safety hazard. To prevent any accidents, please ensure that his ‘activities’ are limited to the shooting range._

Then, you found the core of Mercy’s – and Junkrat’s – primary concern.

 

 

> _RUTLEDGE, MAKO_
> 
> _Summary: Patient suffers from irritability, frequent headaches, and low white blood cell count due to living in radiative environments. All agents unofficially advised to maintain distance. Patient has history of inhaling Black Market “_ Hogdrogen” _gas to alleviate symptoms of radiation poisoning. Current line of treatment involves [REDACTED]._
> 
> _Prognosis: [REDACTED]._
> 
> _Additional notes: Officer Hartley, for your safety and the safety of others, please be weary of Roadhog’s behavior on base. Per his complaints, his symptoms have worsened over the past three weeks, which may impair his performance on the field. I must personally advise you that minimal stress is recommended for his health._

You put your tablet back down, staving off the sympathy that tightened itself around your neck like a tight cord. A part of you felt guilty for being so quick to judge them. Living in the Outback wasn’t easy, and all the pictures and vids you’ve seen proved it. Roadhog’s medical concerns were now yours, and given your lack of a medical degree and rapport with the two Australians, you knew moving forward was going to be a challenge. It irked you, especially knowing how they were now under your charge while everyone else on base floated in the periphery, enveloped in their own problems.

Hearing a knock at the door, you found Tracer bouncing up and down on her toes. “Hello, love!” she whispered, looking side to side. “I hope those two didn’t give you too much trouble. Heard about the whole _sleeping_ _situation_. Don’t feel about it, though. Wasn’t your fault!”

“Yeah, it was really awkward. I just don’t know what Winston expects me to do with them.”

“It’s clear enough! We’re pretty busy with the whole factory fiasco at the moment. Just make sure they don’t break anything, yeah?” She winked, giggling. “Anyway, I wanted to check up on you and make sure everything got sorted.”

“Thanks, Lena,” you replied, foregoing her call sign. “You and Lúcio have been so great to me since I’ve gotten here and, honestly, it means a lot.”

Gleaming, she gave you a tight, reassuring hug with a smile that reached ear to ear. “We meant it when we said we’d keep an eye out for you. You’re part of the team! Remember that.”

“Aw, thanks.” Your cheeks darkened with an appreciative blush. “So, what are you gonna be up to?”

“Well, it looks like 76 is back up to normal in the medbay. He’s a stubborn one,” Tracer remarked. “We’re going to be questioning that omnic from yesterday, too.”

“They brought the omnic _here_?”

Tracer nodded matter-of-factly. “Well, yes, of course. They could’ve been killed, and they might know something. Better get it done all here now than later.”

“Why didn’t Winston tell me about this?”

“He’s been so busy, and doesn’t want to worry you with this while you’re dealing with _those two._ All of us are going to be in his lab in an hour for the interrogation, and right now he’s running through _another_ debrief of the situation. Something’s really bothering the big guy.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully for a moment. “Oh! One more thing – Winston told me he’s sorry that he can’t get you started with your training in person, by the way. I know you wanted to start as soon as possible, so how about I show you the basics until the meeting begins?”

Pleasantly surprised, you guffawed and grabbed Tracer by her hands with a grin. “Honestly? That sounds great!”

-

Nearly forty-five minutes into basic training, Tracer had just flipped you over on the cushioned mat at your feet. The wind knocked out of your lungs, you heaved and looked up at her with puffy cheeks. “Don’t- don’t you think we might be starting off a little rough?” you wheezed.

She laughed and helped you up. “Nonsense! I’m just teaching you how to _block_. But you have a point – can’t leave you all achy for tomorrow. Winston wouldn’t be too happy about that.”

You leaned forward with your hands on your thighs and made a _hold on_ motion with your finger. “Oh, God, how do you guys even _do_ this stuff?”

“We all started where you were,” Tracer responded. She cooed out your name, and playfully encouraged you to try one more time. “C’mon! I got the gloves on, it won’t hurt!”

“Well- I,” you began, but she swiftly came in with a punch, emphasizing her movements with a dramatic ‘ _hi-ya!’_

Everything froze for a half of a second and, before even realizing, your hands latched onto Tracer’s arm and flipped her down onto the mat. “Oh, wow! I did it!” you gasped before looking her up and down. “Wait, oh, oh, oh – are you okay?”

Springing back up like nothing happened, Tracer grinned as if _she_ were the victor and gave you a solid high-five. “Lookit what we’ve got here! A quick-study, or were you sandbagging me?”

“No, no, I just have a really good teacher,” you piped with a thumbs-up.

Tracer, quite pleased with herself, smiled as she walked you to the door. “Good answer! I gotta head over to Winston’s now, but we’ll do this again sometime soon! Good job today.”

“Thanks again, Lena. I’ll see you around.” You walked her out of the sparring ring, and took a moment to collect yourself. Finally noticing the sweat that beaded up around your temples, you inhaled deeply and let the air fill your lungs in a moment of reprieve. The sudden silence was most welcomed, helping you stave off a baby headache.

A part of you became unyieldingly curious, however, as you came to a standstill. Hoping to squeeze in a quick debrief before the interrogations began, you raced to Winston’s lab as fast as you could, hoping to beat the clock.

-

Winston’s laboratory was unnervingly empty, leaving you confused and worried for the rest of the team. As you ventured farther into the dimmed floor, you saw one of the doors at the far back had a yellow light beaming out from underneath. Putting your ear to the door, you heard the shuffle of heavy boots and a muffled string of voices:

_‘We’re not going to hurt you…’_

_‘We just need some information…’_

_‘This is a waste of time. Just spit it out already!’_

Although you were behind a door, you sensed that your teammates were talking from a level below. Carefully sliding the door open, you paused, waiting for Athena to alert the base of your intrusion.

Silence.

With a deep breath, you minded your steps and crouched at the top of a short stairwell to listen some more.

As the conversation progressed below, a part of you felt that it was about time to turn around. After all, you were an uninvited listener, and it wasn’t in your nature to eavesdrop. Still, your legs disobeyed your conscience and stayed in place.

The omnic’s trembling voice cut the chatter.

“My name is Paz, and I do not know that _purple_ woman. I have never seen her before,” they began, quickly, scared, unsure. “I-I only went into the factory because people were talking about something. It’ll make you rich, they said, if it survived the explosion. I wanted it.”

“What was it?” 76 pushed, his voice tired and raspy.

“A… a device. It’s said to harness a great amount of energy. Very concentrated. No one knows who made it. Los Muertos claims it was theirs, that they made it, but not everyone believes them.” A pause. “No one wanted to talk about it because they were scared. Asking questions gets you killed.”

“Why did _you_ want it?” Winston asked calmly.

“I wanted to sell it! A lot of power for a lot of money. Omnics – we’re not treated well where I live. I could have moved. Go somewhere far.” Their voice broke, apologetic. “I didn’t know Talon would be there. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. I swear it.”

You heard Tracer step in, her voice low and reassuring. “You’re not in trouble. We believe you, Paz, but is there anything else you can tell us?”

“Y-yes, I heard it could power weapons. Big ones. If Talon has it, I worry—“

“And yet you wanted to sell such a dangerous thing,” Ana chided firmly, disappointed.

“I wouldn’t have… not to Talon...”

“We understand, love,” Tracer reassured again, although her tone was laced with saddened disapproval. “But this is still a problem.”

“I know some people in Mexico,” Winston said. “You can stay with them until this matter is resolved.”

 “No!” You heard the omnic panic, a metal chair screeching backwards as they scrambled to their feet. “I want to go back home.”

A beat.

“Well, _Paz_ ,” Tracer continued. “It’s a huge risk to go back home now. You can stay with our associates until we think it’s safe for you to go back. Is that okay?”

“Are you serious?” 76 growled. “Talon won’t bother looking for one omnic. We have the information we need – we don’t need to worry—” 

“Let’s not make it harder than it has to be,” Winston interrupted, some defeat in his voice. “None of this is Paz’s fault. Let’s just make sure there are no more casualties while we figure this all out. We’ll send them off tomorrow morning.”

It sounded as though Paz was starting to calm down, but the silent cooing of Tracer’s voice made it clear that the team still had to talk them through this a few more times. You couldn’t blame Paz. Being suddenly uprooted from your life wasn’t something anyone would want to dive into headfirst.

You would know.

As the sounds of their feet shuffled towards the base of the staircase, you quickly realized you had to get out, and fast. Seeing 76 already a few steps up, your heart jumped in your chest as you curled towards the door. You tiptoed out in a rush and ran across Winston’s lab and around the farther corner. For a moment, you were able to catch your breath near the entrance of the hangar, running your fingers through your hair in a huff.

Suddenly, the last voice you wanted to hear sprang up behind you.

_“What’cha doin’, mate?”_

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you turned around and found Junkrat leaning uncomfortably close to you. With a bushy eyebrow shot far up, he was impatiently waiting for an answer to satiate his curiosity.

“ _Tracer_ was helping me train,” was your curt reply.

“Aww, suity tryin’ to fight now? Why’s that?”

“It could be useful, like for when someone is _invading my personal space_.” You balled your hands up into a fist, newfound confidence blooming in your knuckles.

Taking the hint, Junkrat pulled away with a grin and raised his hands to placate your unease. “I follow, I follow… But I’m ‘ere because I’m in mighty need of some assistance, y’see. Roadie is takin’ his afternoon _siesta_ , and I’m left ‘ere bored out of me mind. Those, er, those _boom room_ passes ready for me yet?”

Eyebrows raised, you checked your tablet and nodded dismissively. “Yes, Junkrat, but I have some things to do, so if we could please go at some other—“

“ _C’mon_ , suity,” he wrinkled his nose in a shit-eating grin. “What? You afraid of some loud noises—?”

You narrowed your eyes and tightened your grip on your device as he nonchalantly flashed his gold tooth.

“—Or are you afraid of _me?_ ”

“ _May I remind you, Officer Hartley, that you are to supervise Junkrat, especially during his time in the range_ ,” Athena chimed through your earpiece. “ _And it’s a part of your duties, unlike_ unauthorized _ventures into the laboratory basement.”_

With a guilty gulp, you pinched the bridge of your nose and whispered under your breath. “You saw me—? Oh, God. I’m sorry.” You looked back to Junkrat and conceded. “Fine, fine! I’ll _accompany_ you during your _training._ ”

“Aw, swell!” he perked up and hoisted his grenade launcher over his shoulder in a giggly trot towards his new favorite spot on base.

-

“So what’s your deal?” Junkrat asked as he fired at another helpless bot. It’s been nearly a half hour, and yet he’s remained excitedly transfixed on the _booms_ since he began, offering nothing else but hyena-esque laughter in between reloading his launcher.

“What do you mean?” you replied over the explosions, hands covering your ears.

“With Overwatch, suity. They got somethin’ on you? Why’re you here?” Setting his weapon on a workbench to straighten his back, Junkrat interlocked his fingers high above his head with a loud groan as a string of loud _cracks_ rolled up in his spine. “They payin’ you real nice, ain’t they?”

Cringing, you offered a brief explanation. “It’s not like that. My parents were agents, back when Overwatch was officially active.”

“Ahh! Keeping it in the family, then?”

“That’s not exactly—”

You were interrupted by heavy footsteps at the door. Looking up, you saw Roadhog standing not too far from you, as if you weren’t even there.

“Roadie! Was wonderin’ when you’d wake up.” Junkrat’s face lit like a Christmas tree. “Hope you had a good snooze, yeah? Suity’s here been watchin’ me blow some bots! You wanna give it a go?”

All Roadhog gave was a low grunt as he pointed his thumb behind his shoulder.

“Oh, you’re right, mate. I’m fuckin’ starvin’, meself. Listen, suity, this here’s been fun ‘n all, but we’re gonna go catch some dinnie.”

You knew you could probably build some more rapport over some hot food, and nervously rubbed an arm as you proffered some company. “You remember the way to the mess hall? I can show you—“

Picking up on Roadhog’s body language, Junkrat swiftly interjected. “No worries! We’re gonna grab some grub. No need to ruffle your feathers over us, mate.”

You squinted, feeling some unease gather at the base of your throat as they turned to leave. “Hey, wait, um,” you blurted. “You guys like tea?”

“Tea?” Junkrat’s interest piqued. “Why?”

“I… I have a box full of different kinds. Peach, Earl Grey...” You wrung your hands, as if this were the boldest offer you could possibly make. They stared silently at you, appearing both surprised and skeptical at your sudden bout of generosity. “It’s just a friendly invitation. No strings, no _official business_ , I promise.”

The two exchanged a momentary glance before the lithe junker lowered his chin in thought. “Will there be milk? Suga’?”

“A-absolutely,” you replied with a soft smile.

“Alrightie then, suity! We’ll have a cuppa after Hog ‘n I grab some grub.”

“G-great! I’ll meet you at the mess hall in a bit.”

Savoring the few seconds of solitude after they left, your shoulders finally relaxed and you rolled your neck side to side. A soft _ding_ from your tablet drew your attention as you began preparing everything in the kitchen.

 

 

> _NEW MESSAGE FROM: WINSTON_
> 
> _SUBJECT: UPDATED MISSION DOCKET_
> 
> _ATTACHMENT(S): 1_
> 
> _Officer Hartley,_
> 
> _I’ve updated the mission docket. Please take a look at it when you can. Given recent events, the Junkers will probably be deployed sooner than we anticipated, so please make sure they’re ready for the field before then. If they’re giving you a hard time, let me know._
> 
> _\- W_
> 
> _PS: We’re also running short on peanut butter – can you place an order for a new box through your contacts this week? I’ll carve room in the budget for priority shipping. Thanks!_

A chuckle bubbled in your throat while responding. Before you even realized how much time has passed over boiling water, you could hear Junkrat’s voice go off in the halls, Roadhog’s heavy, calculated footsteps trailing not too far behind.

 _Okay, we’re doing this,_ you thought to yourself, trying not to think of Junkrat’s bomb or Roadhog’s hook. _Tea. Just… tea._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep telling myself I'll make the chapters shorter, but the plot just likes to carry itself! lol
> 
> In the next chapter, the Junkers start to get cabin fever and Hartley has to figure out how to manage that and their mission prep. Talon starts becoming more aggressive, which worries everyone on the base. And then some!


End file.
